


and we'll all go together when we go

by djbunn3 (sourstares)



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourstares/pseuds/djbunn3
Summary: “Lio.”It gets his attention, and his heart stutters in his chest at the same time. Meis hasn’t spoken in over two hours, and the fact that he’s called out Lio’s name is reason enough to get him to turn around. Meis, as pale and emaciated as the rest of them, stares back at him with flat, hopeless eyes, Gueira half-propped against his shoulder. White decorates his dark hair, flakes of snow landing between their bodies and barely even melting against their skin.“‘m sorry,” Gueira murmurs, feeble. “I don’t think… I’ve gotta stop for a second…”Lio’s at his side in a second, frozen, clawed hands pressing against Gueira’s back, helping lower him to the ground. He’s not even shaking anymore, barely even moving. The soft swell of his chest as it rises is the only sign that he’s still there, but Lio knows it’s only a matter of time.“It’s okay,” he says, because he can’t bear to tell the truth. “We’ll wait.”
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia & Gueira & Meis
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	and we'll all go together when we go

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags por favor

He knows, hours before it happens, that they won’t make it.

The cave is cold--winter has set in, harsh and icy, and their people aren’t doing well. They can’t start fires much bigger than the size of their fists--the damned governor has his eagle eyes peeled for any sign of Burnish flame, and Lio knows they’re not strong enough to make another break for it in the dead of the season. Their clothes are wet and threadbare, and their bedding is mostly made up of old tarps and towels that have long since lost their ability to keep anyone warm. Food is scarce, too; no fire means no hunting--they can’t summon their weapons, haven’t brought any with them from their old settlement, and even if they could manage to catch and kill an animal, they have no way of cooking it.

His ears ringing with the cries of hungry children, bony wrists and rib cages tattooed on the backs of his eyelids, Lio knows he needs to do something. He’s their leader, the one who’s supposed to keep them safe and cared for. It doesn’t matter that his vision spots out when he stands up, or that his whole body feels stiff and hollow. Nothing will come of waiting around for help--nobody will offer them any.

On his way out of the cave, he lets himself grab one of the few jackets they have left. He’ll be back soon enough, and even he’s not stupid enough to go out into a frozen world in nothing but the stained white shirt he’s been wearing for far too long. He does his level best not to wake anyone, but of course Gueira finds him by the entrance, and of course he and Meis refuse to let him go by himself.

There aren’t enough words left in him to argue, so he lets them come along. But that was all almost a day ago. Now they’re trudging through the snow, the three of them, towards the city Lio knows won’t let them get away from again. At least once they get caught, they’ll be put somewhere warmer, and dry. If he gets away from the incessant cold for a couple of hours, maybe a bit of his strength will return, and he’ll be able to break them out after all.

“Boss…” he hears from behind, a hoarse cry. Lio turns, teeth clenched against each other, watching Gueira stumble forward until he’s close enough to be heard over the howling wind. “Is it far?”

Lio shudders, taking in Gueira’s pale, colorless face and the defined bones jutting out from under his collar. Gueira would never have spoken up before, would never say anything even resembling a complaint. How could he have failed them so badly, that his strongest generals have weakened so?

“Not far,” he tells them, trying to sound as if he believes himself. If he’s telling the truth, he’s not sure where they are anymore--every path looks the same, white and wintery and hopeless, and at this point they could be minutes away from the city or hours. It’s the same. It’s all the same.

“Boss,” Gueira says again, but Lio just turns around and forces himself to make another step, trusting Meis to keep an eye out on his fellow general.

“Just a little longer,” he says to no one in particular. “We’re almost… there…”

They keep walking.

Lio’s fingers are frozen into hooks, and his nose and cheeks are so cold that they sting. It feels like the wind could topple him with one strong blow, and his stomach is so painfully empty that it feels like his body is gnawing at itself from the inside out. For the hundredth time, he lights a tiny fire in between his palms, hands cupped to keep the wind out, but all he can manage is a low spark of heat before it flickers out in the cold.

It’s never been this hard before. Back in their old settlement, they had clothes and food and shelter. They had protection from the eyes of the government, enough that they could start fires without fear of getting caught. Now, under Kray’s watchful eye, and with the Freeze Force breathing down their necks at every turn, Lio wonders if they ever had a chance of survival at all.

“Boss…”

It’s weaker this time, and if Lio weren’t trying desperately to hear the sounds of civilization beyond the storm, he thinks he might have missed it. “Just a little further,” he says without looking back, his own voice thin and soft. “We have to keep going-”

“Lio.”

It gets his attention, and his heart stutters in his chest at the same time. Meis hasn’t spoken in over two hours, and the fact that he’s called out Lio’s name is reason enough to get him to turn around. Meis, as pale and emaciated as the rest of them, stares back at him with flat, hopeless eyes, Gueira half-propped against his shoulder. White decorates his dark hair, flakes of snow landing between their bodies and barely even melting against their skin.

“‘m sorry,” Gueira murmurs, feeble. “I don’t think… I’ve gotta stop for a second…”

Lio’s at his side in a second, frozen, clawed hands pressing against Gueira’s back, helping lower him to the ground. He’s not even shaking anymore, barely even moving. The soft swell of his chest as it rises is the only sign that he’s still there, but Lio knows it’s only a matter of time.

“It’s okay,” he says, because he can’t bear to tell the truth. “We’ll wait.”

Meis has Gueira’s back pressed against his front, his arms wrapped around Gueira’s body in a vain attempt to keep him warm. Sparks of pink and blue flicker against his fingers, blowing out in the wind seconds later. It doesn’t do anything but tire Meis out, but Lio can tell he can’t just sit there and do nothing. Lio shucks off his jacket and throws it over the both of them, knowing it won’t do them any good.

They sit there until Gueira’s eyes flutter closed, and then Lio gets up. Meis looks at him with a sick mix of betrayal and understanding, and Lio looks back, his jaw clenched, resolved.

“He hasn’t turned yet,” Meis protests weakly, brushing the back of his hand against Gueira’s cheek. “He’s still breathing.”  _ Barely _ is left unsaid, though they can both see that it’s true.

“We have to go,” Lio tells him, turning away. He doesn’t want to look anymore.

“Boss-”

“Meis,” Lio says, his voice cracking. “You can stay here with him, or you can come with me.”

He waits a minute, for Meis to get up. Then he trudges onwards, wind whipping at his exposed skin, the new open space on his arms.

They leave the jacket with Gueira. Neither of them will need it where they’re going, anyway.

Lio can barely keep his eyes open against the dry, biting air, and his steps begin to slow about a mile after. He’s not even sure that he’s looking for the city anymore--it feels like he’s just walking for the sake of having something to do, inching closer to the end on his own feet. He can tell Meis is still following behind him, though he doesn’t look over his shoulder. It feels like his lungs aren’t filling all the way, and every so often he has to stop just to catch his breath. He wonders if this is better than the fate Kray had in store for them, or if perhaps it’s worse. At least here, he’s dying on his own terms.

He stumbles a quarter mile later.

The snow that blankets the ground breaks his fall, soaking through his shirt until it’s transparent, and he can barely even feel the cold, but he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. In moments, Meis is at his side, clumsily pulling him to his feet, but Lio is sure his legs are failing him. Meis begins to drag him to the side of the path, but Lio shakes his head, digging his heels into the ground with as much strength as he can muster.

“A little further,” he protests, jutting his chin ahead of them. “Just a little. We’re… almost there…”

“Almost where?” Meis asks, soundless.

“The city,” Lio tells him. “Can’t you see it?”

Meis doesn’t argue. He stumbles forward, Lio leaning into his side, pushing past thickly snow-lined branches and dragging his feet across the covered ground. Lio reaches out with his best working arm and points to a little off-section of the path, and Meis takes them to it without further prompting. The snow is falling thicker now, heavier, and it clings to Lio’s skin and his hair and seeps into his bones, his soul.

One last layer of foliage aside, they emerge on the other side of the thick forest into a clearing--a lake. Frozen over and shining in the weak sunlight, it reflects Lio’s tired, bony face back at him, pink eyes dull on the glasslike surface. He tilts his head up, looking over the expanse of solid water, no city in sight.

So they hadn’t been close, after all.

“Here,” Lio says, sinking to the ground. He hits the snow at the edge of the lake, and Meis joins him seconds later, his purple hair clinging in wet strings to his cheeks. Lio tils his head back and watches the sky as the feeling leaves his fingers, his palms, his forearms, for good. He already can’t feel his legs, his stomach and face the only parts of him he can register any sensation on at all. Maybe this is what it feels like when Burnish turn to ash.

He thinks about his people, back in the cave, waiting for their leaders to return. His friends, his family, starving slowly in a frozen cave, desperately clinging onto hope that somebody will save them. He thinks of the sick, the young and the elderly, and wonders how much longer they’ll make it. Maybe they’ll risk a fire after all--if they all combined their powers, they might be able to make one big enough to cook something on. But that would mean that someone would have to go out to hunt, and Lio is pretty sure there’s no one left suited to take on the task.

“Meis,” he says, unsure if any sound comes out at all. “Meis.”

There’s no response. Either Meis can’t hear him, or he’s already gone.

“Don’t worry,” Lio tells him anyway. His brain is fogged over, and he can’t filter the nonsense that comes out. “Someone- Someone will help them. They’ll be okay.”

He watches the sky for a while longer, watches snow fall onto the ground around them like soft feathers, like flakes of ash. He wishes he could see the stars, or at least a peek of blue through the clouds. All he sees is gray, and he’s not sure where it’s coming from anymore.

“Do you think,” he continues, “it made any difference?”

The wind howls. The spots in his vision grow bigger, and he closes his eyes.

“Do you think the world cared?” he asks, his lips barely moving, tongue stuck inside his mouth. “Anyone? Or were… were we really just another threat to them…”

He can feel it coming, the last of his fire leaving him, drifting up into the air in soft tendrils of smoke. “We must’ve made a difference to someone,” he says, or maybe he just thinks it. “Somewhere.”

It’s not cold anymore. He thinks the sun might have come out, but he can’t feel sunlight on his skin, and he can’t see it through his eyelids. He thinks birds might be singing somewhere far above them. He thinks the storm is over, maybe, possibly.

Moments later, he stops thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> the plague dogs has me feeling some type of way  
> [my tumblr](https://djbunn3.tumblr.com/)


End file.
